


Tie a Blue Ribbon Around Me

by viske



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime), Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viske/pseuds/viske
Summary: Thorfinn begins to take notice of Canute wearing his hair up more often, and he has mixed feelings about it.
Relationships: Canute/Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nidsk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nidsk/gifts).



> Nidsk is my number 1 enabler in this ship, this fic is directly her fault.

It started an accident laden with a great purpose. In a world like this, doing things frivolously and with little value other than doing it for the sake of it is what made you stupid and most likely dead come morning. The exact purpose of _it_ , was multifaceted, if you asked Canute, it was companionship and if you’d have asked Thorfinn, you’d be met with a broken jaw and a painful death from a Staphylococcus infection 3 weeks later.

Canute, for all intents and purposes, was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. The first time they met, the wind rushed from his lungs like someone had pushed him to the ground and kicked it out of him. It was like Canute had descended from Asgard itself, in a flurry of reds, golds, and blues. Flushed cheeks and a pink nose, full lips and bright eyes like the day and night sky had been caged within them. He wasn’t much of a man, rather a spectacle to behold.

Thorfinn wasn’t the only person to notice the young prince. The men around him talked. They talked brashly about how Canute was the prettiest broad they’d ever seen, about how they wanted to get their hands tangled in cascades of molten gold. They even took bets to see if the prince was really a prince afterall and that a few layers of cloth and chainmail would be no match. On the few occasions where Canute and Ragnar had overheard, Ragnar had gone into a verbal frenzy against the men, whilst Canute, strangely seemed to be undeterred. However, when they talked in hushed tones about the coming of _Freyja_ and the same men looked at the prince with an air of awe and reververy that made Canute visibly squirm in his skin. Somewhere between beauty and royalty, something had made Canute a very strange man.

* * *

The first time, like with many things, started it all.

Drunk, Thorfinn had arrived at Canute’s tent and pounded in circles in the fresh snow, waiting for Ragnar to open the tent.

“ _Princess_ , your body needs guarding,” Thorfinn hollered and slapped on the tent awkwardly. The slaps sounded like the sound of seal fat slapping against the ships hull.

In truth, Thorfinn wanted a warm place to pass out, even if it was at the foot of the prince’s bed like a guard dog. It’s not like he was ever going to tell anyone about it.

He leaned into the leather and whispered, “Ra-Rag-a-nar,” tapping his little blistered fingers in a made up melody.

“Thorfinn?” A voice replied, soft like the coat of a new lamb.

Thorfinn veered into the melodic voice, “ _Yes._ ”

“ _Go away_ ,” the voice replied with the same honey trap sweetness that pulled him in the first time.

He screwed up his face, the movement felt painful in the harsh wind, he thought that his skin would crack into jagged lines if he didn’t get into the warm soon.

A blonde head popped out of the opening of the tent. Canute squinted at Thorfinn, blue eyes bleary and sleep addled, his hair tangled and whipping gracelessly in the wind, “You’re going to wake up all the demons in the hell with that nonsense.”

Canute glared at Thorfinn for a considerable amount of time, his eyes glassing over in the wind chill and his nose and cheeks growing progressively pinker. Thorfinn half imagined him to be stomping his feet in frustration on the other side of the leather cocoon.

“Come on, let me sleep in there, if I’m sleeping, I won’t be talking”

“ _Get lost,_ ” by now, Canute’s mouth had twisted into an almost perfect crescent, like someone had knocked the moon off its axis and it was hanging awkwardly in the sky

“What if I _die_?” Thorfinn used his best diplomats voice, “Will your god repent you for letting your bodyguard die in the snow?”

Despite the alcohol, or perhaps because of it, Thorfinn thought he was doing a pretty stellar job.

“I think he’ll be understanding,” Canute hissed and tightened his grip on the leather flaps, pulling them over himself like the world’s largest coat.

Even in the small amount of residual light coming from the tent and the various torches in the camp, Thorfinn really noticed the pinkness tinting Canute’s skin, from the tip of his nose to his tightly clenched fingers.

Thorfinn shifted his weight from foot to foot with no intention of actually using that motion to begin walking away.

“Fine,” Canute resigned, holding out one of the flaps so Thorfinn could slip inside.

Thorfinn moved into tent, the warmth hitting him like a cannonball as soon as he stepped out of the snow. He paused in front Canute in the narrow opening, with Canute still clutching one of the flaps.

If he hadn’t have been drunk on bad meade, he would have reconsidered his gaze. A gaze that dragged over the prince in his nightclothes, one that lingered perhaps all to readily on rosy cheeks and pale skin like poured alabaster under brightly coloured silks.

“You’re very pretty,” Canute’s face stayed pink and wooden, whilst Thorfinn’s pulse raced in his wrists. He quickly scrambled to rectify the comment that seemed to have made no impact at all, “My sister would be jealous of you.”

That, seemed to pique Canute’s attention. His gaze went from stony and petulant to intrigued in the time it took Thorfinn to realise what he’d done.

“I’m sure your sister is a very beautiful woman,” Canute responded as he tried to smooth down the knots in his hair caused by having to deal with Thorfinn’s little midnight display.

“Why’s that?” Thorfinn asked, completely unprepared for any answer the other blonde was about to give him.

Canute yanked at a particularly bad knot and “I, um, heard your father was very handsome.”

The comment had caught Thorfinn off guard. He hadn’t ever really considered the way his father had looked. The memories had faded and the only ones that remained were of a broad shouldered shadow and a voice so deep and rich that it wrapped around him like furs when he spoke. He was unlike his father in many ways. Suddenly, it felt like a heavy stone had rolled across his tongue and dropped down his throat and into his stomach.

Thorfinn inhaled and crossed his arms tightly whilst Canute threw another piece of firewood onto the dwindling pyre, “Her breath, my sister’s, smells like sour goat's milk anyway, but you don’t touch her or I will cut your delicate little hands off.” He pulled out his father’s dagger like the menace his father never wanted him to be.

Canute laughed and Thorfinn was so taken aback he completely forgot to pay attention to what he said next, “I promise you I have no interest in your sister, Thorfinn.”

Plonking himself down onto the prince’s unmade bed, still warm from his interrupted slumber, Thorfinn mused, “Why are you talking to me now?”

Thorfinn couldn’t see Canute’s eyebrow rise from behind his fringe, but he knew it did, “You won't remember this come morning, do you want me to stop talking to you?”

“No...” Thorfinn said quickly, which definitely took Canute by surprise.

“Oh” Canute responded, as he blushed, wildy.

“Why’d you always have that look on your face?”

The look Thorfinn was referring to was the wide eyed blush that was more common place on a girl of seven than a boy of seventeen. Canute simply averted his eyes and played with his hair, like he always did.

“You may sort of look like her but you couldn’t get my sister to shut up,” Thorfinn stretched out his legs and pulled off his overcoat, throwing onto the floor by canute’s feet, “You need to start speaking up a little otherwise no smart man is going to make you his wife.”

Thorfinn laughed, Canute didn’t. Canute paced forward and slapped Thorfinn on the shoulder with as must ferocity as a puppy.

“What was that?” Thorfinn was shocked that he’d even consider hitting him, Thorfinn wasn’t sure that the prince even knew what hitting was, “Did you just hit me?” he asked again, this time with a laugh in his throat.

Canute’s hands were suddenly by his face, palms displayed in surrender, “I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, please forgive me, Thorfinn.”

“There’d only be something to forgive if I was made of glass,” he jested.

Canute balled his open palms and threw them by his sides, “You’re so rude,”

“I don’t care, _Princess_ ”

Canute suddenly flung his silk tunic over his head, narrowly missing the log that was burning well on the fire. The naked torso was met with surprise but before Thorfinn could fully comprehend the soft stomach with a smattering of blonde hair, Canute has yanked at Thorfinn’s own shirt. And by the time Thorfinn had noticed the angles of a surprisingly broad chest, his own shirt had been discarded haphazardly, with broken leather lacing falling on his boots.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Thorfinn jumped back, suddenly feeling very cold and very sober.

“See, we look the same,” Canute gestured frantically between their two torsos, “We’re the same!”

‘ _The same_ ,’ was a little bit of a stretch, Canute’s soft white torso was nothing alike Thorfinn’s. Thorfinn was muscled and gnarled, with white stripes of scars twisted around him like a birch tree. The closest thing to imperfections on Canute’s chest were the constellations of freckles on his shoulders.

“I’m not a little girl who’s pigtails you can pull!” Canute announced, breaking his chain of thought. Canute's lean arms crossed over his chest in a small triumph.

That was before Thorfinn leaned over and tweaked at Canute’s left nipple.

“Ow!” He cried and placed a hand over the sensitive spot.

“Works the same as me,” Thorfinn deduced smugly.

“Of course I do you fool!”

Canute seemed more uncomfortable in his half naked state than Thorfinn did. Canute’s shoulders were hunched, casting a shadow over a soft stomach and sharp hip bones.

“You read books about the body, consider it research, I just wanted to check,”

Canute’s eyes narrowed and his hands relaxed slightly, “How do you know what I read? I didn’t take you as the perceptive type and honestly, I didn’t think you could read, most of these men can’t”

“I don’t like to talk about it,”

For the thousandth time in night, Canute looked inherently puzzled.

“You’re still a fool, but at least you're a fool who can read-”

Thorfinn leaned over and went for the right nipple with rousing success, “OW!”

This time Thorfinn let his hand linger and receive any punishment Canute felt like dealing. His hand waited for a moment on the tiny curve of Canute’s waist, it was so narrow he felt like he could put his entire hand around it. The alabaster skin burnt white hot under his palm.

Canute didn’t swat him away, but in turn, announced rather stoically, “Get out of this tent.”

Canute picked up the discarded tunic and began to pull it over his head, blues and orange silk shimmering in the firelight. Thorfinn watched as small muscles flexed with the movement. It was enchanting, so much so he leaned forward to press his lips against prominent collar bones. However, Canute moved in a way that Thorfinn didn’t predict and chapped lips were replaced with teeth.

Canute jumped backward pulling the tunic the rest of the way down with so much ferocity Thorfin thought he was going to rip it, “You bit me!”

“I didn’t mean to!” he defended, but by judging on his previous behavior Canute had good reason to be suspicious.

“What on earth were you doing to me then?!”

Thorfinn stood and moved to rectify his earlier mistake.

Canute went to push the still half naked, half drunk Thorfinn away from him, “Thorfinn do not bite me, you’re disgusting I’ll get an infectio-”

He paused as Thorfinn's lips pressed hesitantly against Canute's throat. He could feel Canute swallow beneath the kiss.

Thorfinn moved away after a moment and peered up at Canute hesitantly.

Canute held steadfast, “I can tell by the preciseness of your ability to inflict pain and complete lack of knowledge of tenderness means you’ve never done this before.”

Thorfinn pinched up his freckled nose, “If you’re going to be a brat about it-”

“God please forgive me,” Canute muttered before pulled him in for a kiss.

The kiss was little more than a clash of teeth at first, with Canute twitching backward for a moment. Thorfinn could feel his pulse sputter and his hand tighten on Canute's hip as the panic that this might end set in. He composed himself for a moment and leaned back into Canute. Who gave back graciously and tenderly, with a soft palm resting on Thorfinn's bicep.

Canute's tongue was warm and careful when it runs across Thorfinn's bottom lip and into his mouth before he pulled away with a sigh. His lips glistened, cherry red and lump.

“You know I am not a lady? Even though I know you will close your eyes and think of one.”

Thorfinn's stomach clenched enigmatically, “I am not a lady either”

“I know,” Canute sighed into Thorfinn's neck. Goosebumps prickled across his entire body.

The second kiss was different, the second kiss gave him time to think. Time to consider the pink dusting on Canute's cheeks, the feeling of his hair between his fingers. He rolled the soft strands between his tips, working around the knots that had formed earlier. Thorfinn tilted his head backwards to give Canute better access but He removed his lips to Thorfinn's absolute dismay, but placed small pecks along Thorfinn's jaw.

Canute's hands roamed along the planes of Thorfinn's hard stomach and he shuddered deeply into the touch. The nimble hands ran lower and began to toy with the lacing on Thorfinn's pants, similar to the one he'd broken earlier.

“Is this okay?”

Thorfinn could feel every nerve in his body vibrate in anticipation as he nodded definitely and Canute gracefully sank to his knees.

“Pl-please don’t bite me.”

Canute laughed and looked up at Thorfinn from his knees, his blue eyes illuminated by the royal blue of his silk. “I’m not an animal,” he grinned.

Canute made short work of the lacing, with each pull of the leather Thorfinn could feel his breath hitch in his throat. Thorfinn could feel that he was hard, but it was another thing seeing is taut and leaking against the backdrop of Canute's beautiful face.

Canute ran his hand along the shaft, somewhat experimentally, sending his heart hurtling through his body. He stopped stroking and took Thorfinn's length into his mouth. Plump lips strained around him, blonde eyelashes collected tears as he peered up at Thorfinn.

Thorfinn bit down on the heel of his hand to stop himself from moaning loudly into the night and Canute's pace increased. One hand moved to steady himself on Thorfinn's plump ass and the other wrapped around the shaft, along with his lips and exploratory tongue. Thorfinn could feel something white hot pool within him until Canute stopped rapidly.

The taller boy paused and pushed the hair out of his face with long fingers. Thorfinn leaned forward and gathered Canute's hair into a ponytail. As Canute began again, the golden strands began slipping from his grip with each enthusiastic bob.

Again, he removed himself with a pop and pulled at the lacing of his own tunic. He loosened the knot of the blue and orange silk cord and pulled it free. Canute's tunic fluttered open to his navel, casting light and dramatic shadows over his lightly muscled chest. He pulled his hair into the ponytail again and carefully wrapped the cord around to keep it in place.

Thorfinn could feel his satisfaction in his ingenuity.

Canute looked up at Thorfinn with those blue eyes with new tears collected in the blonde lashes and he wrapped his lips around the strained head of Thorfinn's cock once again. As Canute worked him, Thorfinn leaned over, peering down the billowing of his tunic and let his eyes roam over the softness of Canute's body. Heat pooled in his bloodstream until he peered down further and caught sight of the tenting and wetness on Canute's blue silk, with that he exploded into Canute's mouth with a muffled sob.

Canute leaned backward with a scowl on his face, “That tastes truly vile, far worse than I ever expected.”

After Thorfinn had finished counting the stars that danced around Canute's head he responded, “Sorry, you don’t have to do it again.”

Canute stood up, with Thorfinn's shirts bundled in his hand and held them out to him. Thorfinn looked down at the decimated leather lacing on the floor and in one swift movement, pulled at the loose strand of silk around Canute's hair and his hair dropped in a golden cascade.

“I’m taking this for my shirt, to replace the one you ruined,”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to produce, I've been going feral over a hundred different fic ideas. I hope you enjoy this chapter of dumb boys being dumb horny teenagers.
> 
> this fic is a nice break in a sea of angsty thornute feelings I've been having.

There was a time in Thorfinn’s life when he did not ache. When his bones did not feel feel like they could disintegrate at any moment, when his joints did not grind against one another like pestle and mortar, sure to be sending bone fragments through his blood like leaves on a stream. He’s sure there was a time when his feet were not swollen in his boots, only finding relief when he lifted his foot to then find it gone again when he would put it back down. There was a time he did not ache, he’s absolutely sure of it. 

There were things that helped with the aching, he’d often count birds in the sky or try and guess which one of Askeladd’s men would run off to piss in the bushes somewhere next. There was one time one of the men just whacked out his dick there on the dirt track, leaving a trail of pungent yellow and angry comrades in his wake. That had distracted him from the aching in his feet for a good twenty minutes. Unfortunately, nothing as exciting as that had happened since the prince had joined them.

He watched Canute from his position behind the cart, trudging along slowly with the rest of the herd. Canute looked bored. As the time Canute spent in Thorfinn’s company grew, so did Thorfinn’s ability to spot the nuance’s in the other boy’s mannerisms. And this look, the one with his blue eyes glazed over, and his pretty face rested in a titled hand was boredom. And just like any look the prince had on his face, it was distracting. 

But, with his aching feet and swollen knees a distraction was sent by Odin himself. Just has he had done before, he let his eyes roam over the prince. He was bundled in his red cloak, the fur trim dancing in the wind as it collected the light snowflakes that littered the air. The top of the cloak lead to an alabaster neck, long and seraphic in the grey light. Thorfinn watched as the tendons in the swan like neck pulled as Canute shifted positions, how his apple bobbed in his throat with a gulp. The pale skin was transcendental and Thorfinn was both proud and unsure why he’d never noticed it before. Then, his eyes traced upward to the flaxen hair pulled tight at Canute’s nape, he followed the curves of the strands like he’d follow rolling hills along the horizon, until he reached a ribbon, gathering the sunlight in the valley between the peaks. He followed the ray of domesticated sunlight as it traced behind the cart, catching slightly with every gust of wind. 

Suddenly, Thorfinn needed to gulp too. He quickly swallowed the spit that had gathered on his tongue. The sound of it was so loud in his ears he looked around to see if anyone had heard it too. Luckily his darting eyes saw nothing out of the ordinary, just trudging vikings with lax faces looking toward the ground. As the hard feeling in his throat had finally subsided a strange excitement flickered in his gut. Once again his eyes flickered from the leather covering the arms of Askeladd’s men, to the branches of fir trees that hung at head height, then to the barrels and food covered with cloth in the old cart and finally again to the prince, who’s head still rested on nimble fingers, but eyes, once glazed, now focused in on Thorfinn with intensity. 

Thorfinn watched as the tip of one of those nimble fingers flirted with Canute's parted lips. It ran, absent mindedly along the swell of his spit slick bottom lip. The whiteness of his finger tip was stark against the lush peach. Thorfinn's held breath hitched in his throat as the tip rose from his lip to the softness of his cheek once again, and his eyes moved from focus to boredom, like they hadn't even changed in the first place. 

By a stroke of bad luck, Thorfinn was now almost face to face with Alti. Who looked down upon him, lips pulled into a smirk. Thorfinn immediately stopped playing with the ornate cord threaded through his over shirt. He’d had one of the ends wrapped so tightly around his finger it’d began to lose colour, he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed the now throbbing digit sooner. 

“You ‘ight there? Your face is about as red as the prince’s cloak,” Atli poked. 

Suddenly aware of the heat on his face against the cold, and the pressure that had built in his abdomen. He took two of the longest strides he could manage and headed out of the caravan into the woods besides them.

“Fuck off, I just need to piss or something.”

Canute looked over at the two men and stroked at his ponytail absentmindedly as his eyes followed the disgruntled Thorfinn into the woods. 

By the time they’d reached a small village in Mercia, Thorfinn had wandered off from the rest of the heard, to piss, more times than he could count. He’d stomped through the brackets of the English countryside clumsier each time that he’d excused himself. He’d left to piss too many times for a person who couldn’t actually do any pissing. 

Thorfinn’s presence had been requested by the prince, who annoyingly had been doing that a lot ever since Thorfinn had been forced into being his bodyguard. It was some bullshit, really. 

The first thing he noticed when he entered the little stone house, after the door had finished clattering on it’s hinges was the assault of rosemary that hit him like the back of an axe. The second thing to hit him was the prince on his knees, carefully licking at a wooden spoon, hair tied up again, this time in a silky ribbon - that hit him like the front of an axe. 

Thorfinn stared again, brown eyes burrowing into the prince like two moles hopped up on one of Bjorn’s mushrooms. Canute shifted awkwardly under the intense scrutiny and softly placed the wooden bowl in the pot over the fire. 

He looked up at Thorfinn with the same wide eyed innocence he always had, but this time on his knees, with sweat beading on his brow from the steam, it hit him in a different way. As he imagined his blond lashed clumped with tears, and his cheeks flushed and lips parted invitingly he suddenly needed to piss again. 

He sat down quickly on a nearby chair and crossed his legs, begging the sensation to go away. 

Canute cocked his head slightly and rolled his lips together before leaning over to grab the spoon again, his face illuminated by the fire below him, catching his full lips and high cheekbones in dramatic chiaroscuro . He formed his lips into the softed ‘o’ and blew. Thorfinn tried to focus on the liquid rattling on the spoon rather than the unwelcome sensation in his gut. 

“You’re wearing your hair up,” Thorfinn choked dryly, about fifteen seconds away from running out of the hut to find a tree to relieve himself behind. 

Canute’s head suddenly snapped to face the boy on the other side of the room, he smiled, much to Thorfinn’s annoyance, “Good to see that the skill of perception hasn’t entirely passed you by, Son of Thors.”

Thorfinn leaned forward into his crossed legs, ready to say something damning, but the lump in his throat had grown sentience and a digestive system and had inconveniently eaten his tongue. 

This time, the smile is less of a smile and is simply the twitch of a poorly concealed one, and it's infinitely more infuriating, “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me with my hair up is it?”

He thinks back to the cart and the spun gold twisting between Canute's fingers. Thorfinn's voice cracks, “No-”

He hummed in response, “I tie it up when I’m going to get it tangled or messy,” 

Thorfinn nodded in vague understanding before noticing the silk cord wrapped tightly around his little finger. The cord glistened in rich blue and orange in the fire light just as it had done in Canute's hair that night. 

Suddenly, Thorfinn realised that the burning in his groin was unfortunately not a bladder infection. It was infact much worse. He wanted Canute to bundle up his hair and carefully tease open his breeches and place those plump lips around him. He wanted to fuck Canute, and by Odin he was sure Canute wanted to fuck him too. 

Thorfinn stood up and the chair screeched against stone behind him,"I need to-"

"Piss I presume?" Canute offered knowingly. 

  
  


"I-"

Before he could respond a familiar soft voice interrupted, "Thorfinn, please make sure you return. There is food here for you."

Thorfinn's head whipped around to notice Ragnar in the corner of the room, chopping carrots solemnly, a weak smile on his cracked, exhausted features.

Thorfinn grunted something close to _yes_ and hurried out of the door with no intention to relieve himself. 

Suddenly an emotion that could only be akin to the sad hybrid of pure dread and crippling embarrassment boiled in Thorfinn's gut. Canute had done _that_ with Ragnar in the room. Maybe Ragnar hadn't noticed, maybe Ragnar had decided he didn't want to notice. That was the smart choice and Ragnar was a smart man. Thorfinn on the other hand was not and had been lured straight into the trap the pony-tailed seraph had set out just for him. 

He truly hated that smug blue eyed bastard, with his bee stung lips, chalk stone skin and devilish tongue that ran words like it ran up and down his - 

And suddenly Thorfinn lost his train of thought to the hum of Canute's laugh emanating from the small hut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ljósálfar are said to inhabit the realm of Alfheim, under the rule of the God Freyr, the Ljósálfar were tall, slim demi-gods with pale skin and hair, who were more beautiful than the sun. They were a very fluid race and did not subscribe to the normal gender roles of humans. Elves were often portrayed as morally ambivalent.

Thorfinn had irritatingly begun to enjoy escorting the prince to his tent at night. The walks were short yet they were silent, something that he had long since forgotten. Compared to the disgusting noises of the Viking men, silence was the sweetest sound in the universe. So the two boys spent 10 minutes, every evening together, content in each other’s wordless presence and the only thing Thorfinn hated about it was the fact that the prince seemed to enjoy it too. 

They arrived at the tent and for once, the leather flaps were not smacking against one another like bare fists against a deer caracas. 

“Do you think you’re good to not die if I leave you here?” Thorfinn snipped and stuffed his hands under his armpits. 

Canute’s chin tilted upward and he exhaled the way his mother would do when he’d spent the evening bickering with his sister over who had to pluck the chicken for the night’s dinner. His eyes rolled as he gave a sharp nod. 

They both stood for a moment, in a deadlock who dared to move first. Irritation and discomfort fizzed up inside Thorfinn as they both loitered there like stubborn children. The prince seemed entirely unphased in this silent match of wills, unlike Thorfinn who was completely unpracticed in whatever this was. So he did something, he thrust his arm into the tent to hold it open. And the hideous little smirk that pulled over Canute’s rose buds lips told him that he had lost this, _whatever this was_. 

Thorfinn’s arm quivered as it held up the tent flap. 

Gliding by him, Canute hummed, “Your right shoulder has been giving you trouble right?”

His arm snapped down and the sound the tent made was that of a deer carcass hitting a pig carcass that had been hurled toward it by Thorkell. He screwed up his face and stuffed his arms beneath his arm pits again, as if to distract Canute from the very concept that he even had arms at all. And as he tightened his shoulders to further conceal his appendages, his shoulder felt like he had also been thrown by Thorkell and landed on the deer carcass. 

“How do you know that?” he finally acquiesced, hissing cold air between his teeth as if it would help the pain. 

Canute unwound the chord from the fastenings from his cloak as he spoke, “I’ve been watching you and you’re tense.” He placed the cloak on the back of a clunkily carved chair. Thorfinn had always assumed that most royals would turn their nose up at the lack of craftsmanship at the blocky monstrosity but Canute seemed to harbour no preference for the more refined things in life. Canute made good on his declaration of observing Thorfinn, as his eyes barely left the little man as he completed his task. 

“You’re creepy, all those years of just hanging out with cone-head has made you weird,” Thorfinn finally let his hands hang by his sides, silently relieved at the way his shoulder sang when he did so. 

Canute gave him that look again from his head’s perch upon his high necked tunic, that one of a disappointed mother,“If I don’t notice things I'll die, you fight things to avoid dying, I notice things.” His voice was plain and explanatory and condescending as hell. 

Thorfinn wanted to mock the other boy, but he knew he shouldn’t. He secretly knew that he could also never keep up with whatever quick witted biting thing the royal had spent years repressing.

Canute pressed a thumb to his lower lip before he spoke, “You should do something about the shoulder, you need to keep the mobility or you won't be able to fight properly.”He removed the thumb and placed his hand over his shoulder and assessed Thorfinn as if he was assessing a pig, “You’re hunched over like a troll.”

Thorfinn sucked his tongue to the top of his mouth and scowled, his vision impaired slightly, as his eyebrows hung over his eyes. 

Canute had always seemed to find a way to look smug, perhaps it was just the way his face was. Thorfinn always wanted to find a reason to punch it. He was always sure he wanted to punch him in his perfectly formed, pretty face. 

Taking a step toward Thorfinn, Canute spoke again in that same condescending tone, “If you’re tense you’re going to seize up during a battle defending me - I really don’t want to die because you don’t know how to take care of yourself,” He extended his nimble fingers toward Canute, “Here let me-”

Those fingers then clasped around the skin at Thorfinn’s neck. The skin was warm, he could tell that the heat raged in his flesh just by how icy Canute’s pale fingertips were in comparison. 

He jolted away, his head jolted backward first and the rest of his body jankly followed suit, “Get your hands off me!”

The prince looked disappointed. He did not seem angry or hurt by Thorfinn’s actions, merely disappointed. Thorfinn took a sharp inhale between his teeth, the air squeaking against the saliva as he did so. 

“Wait no,” the words exited him faster before he could squash them as they formed. Canute merely eyed him with suspicion at the outburst, his pretty blue eyes narrow. He’d never seen blue like that before. It made him want to punch him just that little bit more. “Okay,” Thorfinn squeaked as he permitted Canute to touch him once again, “Just... don’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I going to tell, Thorfinn?”

Thorfinn shrugged at the comment and his shoulder cracked like a stone dropping onto another. Reaching his fingers out again, Canute touched Thorfinn with cold hands. Seeing how Thorfinn flinched at the touch, Canute retracted them, and blew on his hands in a hope to warm them. Thorfinn could barely tell by the way his cupped hands were hiding his plump lips, but he was almost sure they were twisting to a smile. 

The newly warmed hands made their way to the skin beneath Thorfinn’s caped overshirt after Canute had moved behind Thorfinn. Long digits kneaded into Thorfinn’s gnarled skin, with more force than he would ever thought capable from the glass like prince. A thumb ran across each nodule of his spine, his skin prickled with every rise and dip of Canute’s thumb. His skin became so sensitive he could almost feel every ridge of Canute's fingerprint. 

A sharp exhale left Thorfinn. He panicked for a moment, as the way his vocal chords quivered with residual vibration he may have moaned into the touch. But Canute’s working hands did not still, they remained undeterred, or perhaps encouraged by the moan that may or may not have exited the small man. 

Light crawling fingertips brushed along Thorfinn’s collar bone, pausing slightly over the lump that had formed from the first time that he had broken it. Canute’s hands began to dip lower and onto his chest exploring the new territory of untouched skin and then up onto his neck and then once again down again. The hands did not ease their pressure but the circular movements of the massage had stopped. The pressure was then followed by a warm breeze against the shell of his ear. Thorfinn couldn't swallow. He was worried that if he did, the stone buried in his throat would tear straight through the skin. 

Quickly the hands were removed from the scorching skin, and they tugged at the lacing blue silk cord in Thorfinn’s shirt and pulled it out with a high pitched thwip and the shirt fell open. The hands began their exploration again, this time uninhabited by the thick layer of fur and suede caging them as they had previously. The cold air around them licked at every morsel of the exposed skin on his chest, from his collarbones to the tip of his navel, the thin undershirt doing nothing to protect his raging skin from the outside cold. 

“Take it off,” Canute said. Thorfinn almost panicked as he was so engrossed in Canute’s touches he had forgotten that he could speak too. 

Thorfinn pulled the billowing suede tunic and the thin undershirt beneath it over his shoulders and dropped them both to the floor. He waited as the cold teased at his prickling skin. He keened in the absence of Canute’s forceful touches until they were reunited again, this time hands gliding across his scarred chest with the help of a dash of thyme scented oil.

“S’smells good,” mumbled Thorfinn as Canute actually focused his attention in the knot in his offending shoulder. The touches continued from torid to tepid and every gram of pressure in between. Thorfinn had almost forgotten what untouched skin felt like, when Canute removed his hands again, leaving Thorfinn’s skin still and uncomfortable.

Sensing the shuffling behind him, he turned only to find Canute with the silk cord dangling between his clearly chewed upon lips and his hands bundling his flaxen hair into a ponytail.

“Messy,” Canute breathed, his word not quite forming properly in the bid to keep the cord falling from his lips. Thorfinn then pulled at the offending cord and watched it brush gently against the slowly parting lips, and with each microsecond that passed he wished with every micro ounce of his being that his finger could be the thing gently passing against the other boy’s mouth. 

Thorfinn took each end of the cord and wrapped it around the bundle of golden hair. He savoured each gentle brush of skin on skin that was made between both of their hands. He barely wanted to focus his eyes in the dankly lit tent as he knew that if he did, he would have to look at the golden lashes fluttering around Canute’s beautiful blue eyes. The way that Canute’s breath had stopped fluttering against Thorfinn’s cheek as he tied the ribbon, he knew that Canute had begun holding it. 

Thorfinn slowly released the tied cord and let his fingers explore the bunch of bundled gold, as their eyes held in a deadlock once again. He could only imagine what happened when Canute last had his hair up like this and they were alone. Canute on his knees, mouth stretched around him, eyes glassy and pricked with tears. But, he was wholly too terrified about what it meant if he was to lean in and kiss him even though he’s never wanted to do anything else with such a passion before, not even plunging a knife into Askeladd. 

Thorfinn was acutely aware of the sensation in his groin, that he had now identified as an erection that could only be rectified by the prince of the Ljósálfar that stood in front of him. He didn’t dare check if Canute was in the same position. 

He turned around again so Canute’s hands could work on his back. Canute’s fingertips fell once again on his right shoulder, Thorfinn flinched into the touch, every ounce of pain that had melted from it returning in an instant, “You’ve gone really tense again.”

Sticking out his bottom lip and removing his still entangled hand from Canute’s hair he shrugged, “You can leave if it’s not working- “ Thorfinn stuttered whilst trying to appear nonchalant. There was a pause between them and a shuffle. 

Thorfinn turned around only to find Canute once again on his knees.

Panic shot through Thorfinn like a crossbow bolt, “Yeah um, I don’t feel great maybe you should go.”

“This is my tent,” Canute’s downturned lips spoke as he thrust Thorfinn’s overshirt back into his hands after an effortless search upon the floor. Thorfinn pretended he couldn’t sense the disappointment. 

“Oh yeah,” He stuttered as he pulled the mildewed fur over his body once again and headed from the tent in a lust addled cloud. 

Canute did not wish him goodnight as he would usually do. Thorfinn always thought he hated that interruption of his precious silence, but in fact the prince’s thoughts being on him, even for a second had only made the evening sweeter. 


	4. Chapter 4

Thorfinn yearned for the past. He yearned for the sprawling Icelandic planes, where the clouds would hang low, casting a thick shadow across the land as if Asgard was beginning it’s descent. He yearned for his mother’s cooking, her food was simple yet always sustained him in a way that a meal has never quite managed in the years since. But mostly he yearned for the recent past, precisely 22 hours ago, when he was blissfully unaware of his legitimate lust for the prince. Mistaking lust for a chronic bladder infection was infinitely easier. 

The feast had slowed. Most of the men had trickled away from the hall each in varying states of iniberence, including Thorkell, who had taken Asgeir under his arm and left. Including Askeladd, only a few of the Vikings remained. Askeladd’s head was turned toward the prince who sat with him at the top of the hall. The prince nodded in agreement, Thorfinn couldn’t hear anything over the loud game of what looked to be human hnefatafl. Canute ran his finger along the top of his drinking horn whilst he processed the whispers coming from Askeladd. 

Thorfinn remembered how those nimble fingers felt and his skin began to itch under his overshirt. He’d forgotten to grab his undershirt when he left Canute’s tent the night previous and he was beginning to regret it. He was glad he didn’t have any fresh wounds as he was sure the rotting fur would infect them. Then Canute drew his finger to his mouth and wet it before returning it to the drinking horn, guiding it in concentric circles as if begging the vessel to sing. Thorfinn had suddenly lost all awareness of his itching skin. 

The night drew on, moment by moment. And with each moment Thorfinn’s restraint was tested by the prince. He was sure Canute was fully aware of his actions. His fingers often traced delicately over his collar bones. For once he was not wearing something that covered his neck, making the display of skin so tempting, he almost wanted to draw blood from it. Then those same fingers would stroke at the long bundle of hair tied at the back of his head.

Everything Canute did made Thorfinn squirm from his shadowed perch. He wished he had taken care of himself the night before. Rather than contemplating how quickly he’d have been murdered if someone had found out what he and the prince had been doing that night. He shifted on the hard wood stool, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that had blossomed in the base of his spine and at his crotch. 

As his body was twisted in a gnarl too intricate to ever be comfortable, a voice interrupted his contortions, “His highness wishes to speak with you-”

He stood probably all too quickly and stormed over to the prince, who greeted him with a small smile pulling at parted lips. “Thorfinn,” Canute sighed, seemingly pleased with himself. 

Canute could read Thorfinn like a book and he hated it, “ _Your High Bastard_ ” he jibed.

There was a sudden shink of a sword as the man who had been ordered to collect Thorfinn from his corner reacted to Thorfinn’s friendly insult. 

Canute lifted his hand with a delicate flourish, “That’s not necessary, I’m quite used to Thorfinn’s insolence, it adds to his…” he looked up at the still standing Thorfinn, his gaze so pertinent and strong, he was sure that Canute could see the face of the man stood behind Thorfinn, “...Charm,” he finished. 

“The feast is dying down, I need you to escort me to my chambers,” Cannute raised himself on the arms of his throne and stood. 

Thorfinn rolled his eyes, yet his stomach rolled in an entirely different way, “Fine.”

They left and meandered down the halls of Canute’s father's house. Thorfinn preferred the walk to the tent. If it was up to him they would have never arrived in this place this morning. 

Canute must have sensed the way Thorfinn’s permanent scowl had intensified,“I noticed you were looking quite uncomfortable tonight.”

Thorfinn forgoed the gasp and simply looked at Canute with both surprise and immediate defense. He couldn’t help but let his eyes shoot immediately downward, worrying that his situation from earlier hadn’t eased. 

“I imagine this will help remedy that-” Canute spoke whilst Thorfinn’s eyes were averted. 

“Huh” Thorfinn spluttered and looked up, half imagining Canute to have his long fingers suddenly pressed around his length and his lips against the line of his jaw. 

Holding out Thorfinn’s forgotten folded undershirt, Canute looked puzzled.

Thorfinn snatched the linen shirt from Canute’s weak grasp, “Where did you have this?” 

“In a pocket, you’re not very large, Thorfinn,” Canute shrugged, “It’s clean.”

He must have sensed Thorfinn’s fleeting misjudgment and disappointment that his momentary fantasy hadn’t come true. 

“You seem upset? Would you have rather left the blood and the dirt?” Canute jibed.

Thorfinn only grunted in response and stuffed the shirt into the band of his trousers. Canute’s surprisingly deep voice left a lingering vibration in the hallway as they walked, perfectly accompanying the melodic footsteps of the two men walking in unison. 

The buzzing rhythm was interrupted by a sharp inhale from the taller boy besides Thorfinn, “It’s customary to say thankyou when someone does something nice for you” 

“Thanks,” he managed, knowing that his mother had raised him better. Canute never seemed to mind Thorfinn’s rudeness before, in fact when Canute had mentioned that Thorfinn’s insolent actions only added to his charm, he was sure that the prince was telling the truth. 

Amongst the weeks they’d spent together, Canute had changed. His actions became confident and purposeful. Thorfinn preferred this version of the prince, even though it meant that Thorfinn was doomed to days filled with words instead of the silence he always loved. Canute did not treat Thorfinn like an imbecile like so many men did. And as days with this new Canute passed, he wondered if Thorfinn was really serving the prince at all. He worried that he’d grown attached, _loyal_. 

Thorfinn had intertwined himself inexplicably to the prince and as they passed a torch in the corridor, Thorfinn realised that the ribbon in Canute’s hair was the one they’ve been passing between them, in a totemic game of sexual chicken. The blue silk wrapped around itself as they had become to one another. He always knew why his stomach flipped when he saw the bundle of blonde hair but now he was going to do something about it. 

Suddenly Thorfinn’s hormones and feelings got the better of him and he pulled the royal into a storage closet. There was a clatter of settling mops as the two men were thrust into the small space.

“What are you doing-” Canute shifted in the position that Thorfinn was holding him in. He could feel the prince’s slightly developed muscles wiggle under his grip.

“I thought there was someone suspicious,” Thorfinn lied.

“Everyone’s suspicious-” 

“Is it wrong that I really want to kiss you again?” Finally blurted Thorfinn, who couldn’t ignore the fact once they were face to face again. He was very glad of the darkness as if there wasn’t he would have just done it, consequences be damned. 

“I’ve been trying to get you to kiss me again for weeks,” Canute’s confident voice flitted back into the cautious boy he had first met. 

Silence hung for a moment as the small room began to close around them and Thorfinn simply blinked in the darkness. 

“I’d never kissed anyone before you,” he said, ignoring the tide of hormones ebbing at his shore. He was stalling, he was nervous. 

“Oh,” 

“Never had someone do that thing with their mouth either.” Thorfinn’s mouth was tacky and his throat was dry. He wanted more than anything to pull Canute down into the kiss. He'd spent weeks ignoring the urge, forcing it’s replacement with some other emotion. Yet now, facing it head-on, feeling it’s breath tickling at his lips, he was frozen. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Canute laughed and Thorfinn’s hands twitched on Canute's arms, “Are you going to kiss me or do you need a box to stand on?”

In a bout of sheer annoyance strong enough to overwhelm his nervousness, Thorfinn pulled him down and kissed him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter as @viskewrites if you wanna talk VS!


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